


Pay attention (Keep your eyes on me)

by pxnky



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff and Smut, Hair Braiding, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Morning After, Multi, Non-Sexual Intimacy, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24238108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pxnky/pseuds/pxnky
Summary: Intimacy comes in different ways, shapes and formsAKA a bunch of PWP One Shots that I'm too ashamed to post as stand alones and this came out
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Pay attention (Keep your eyes on me)

**Author's Note:**

> 1: Ferdibert (Morning after, Modern AU)

It’s the cold weather and the need for human warmth what wakes Hubert up. Strange, he’s sure he closed the window and lowered the blinds before going to sleep last night. However, now the blinds are up and the window is wide open, the temperature has gone down by a few degrees and now the thin sheets of the bed aren’t enough to keep his body warm. Not to mention that Ferdinand’s side of the bed is empty, no trace of his husband left except for the slight heat he can feel under his fingertips when he touches the other side of the mattress.

It must be early, given that the sun is barely rising. Some lazy sun rays hit his face, caress his pale skin and help wake up that slothful part of his brain that refuses to start functioning correctly and think about where his husband might be so he could go find him and bring him back to the bed. Where he should be. Maybe he’d bring an extra pair of blankets, just in case.

The familiar sound of the water running and hitting the floor of the shower reaches his ears. Of course Ferdinand would pick the small bathroom on their top floor instead of the bigger one downstairs to avoid straying too far away from his husband. It brings a smile to his lips.

Ferdinand’s always been like this, probably will never change.

Hubert wouldn’t have it any other way.

It doesn’t take long before the pipes squeak and the water cuts off. Weird. If there’s something Ferdinand never misses, is his long showers; there are little things he appreciates more than the drops falling down his body, his neck and down to chest, his bright orange hair wet and clinging to his back and shining in the afterglow. Maybe he loves to feel his husband running a hand through his locks, fingertips massaging his scalp a little more than that, but that’s about it.

Hubert won’t ever say that he loves to do that, too. Not with words at least.

The bathroom door opens without a sound, a small cloud of steam starts coming out and Hubert can see it before his eyelids give up due to exhaustion and drop closed. In a reflex act, he covers his eyes with an arm. A groan leaves his throat. There’s not an ounce of interest in going back to sleep. He already finds it troubling to fall asleep again once he’s woken when he has the embodiment of the sun, his warm body covered in freckles and his arms wrapped around him, by his side. Without it, it’s practically impossible.

A singing voice fills the silence that reigns in the house. It’s sweet, exudes “I don’t care if I’m not doing it right, I’m still going to do this” energy, covered with layers of enthusiasm and joy that make him sound almost child-like, innocent.

Hubert doesn’t pay attention to the lyrics of the song. It must be one of those very famous ones that are played on the radio every day, that Hubert hasn’t heard in his life for some reason. He’s not the type of man that listens to mainstream music much, that’s more Ferdinand’s thing. He’d rather listen from afar, see how his husband’s face lights up upon hearing the first note of the song’s melody, how he’d sing along despite not knowing the full lyrics sometimes, not caring about being off key. And as much as Hubert pretends it annoys him, he can’t help but crack a smile when Ferdinand’s voice breaks during a high note and laughs at his own stupidity, he even chuckles along.

A deep breath. His cheeks are so cold they’re about to go numb. Thin white sheets slide down his bare legs when he moves them, his black amber hair spilled on the pillow and contrasting with its light color. Hubert can still feel vividly the red marks of blunt nails running down his back. His wrists, hips and neck practically scream at him, sore and resentful, for letting his primal instincts take the better of him last night. And he can’t see himself, but he’s pretty sure he has proof of Ferdinand’s teeth sinking in the place where his neck meets his shoulder, some bruises where his husband’s hands gripped his hips as to not let him go

The aftermath of the night before is still fresh in his body, and most likely Ferdinand’s too.

At some point, when impatience is starting to build up in his stomach, Hubert concentrates on the melody, the lyrics his husband’s voice is singing. They’re cheesy, as expected; it’s about one person making another feel special after that person has felt worthless their whole life. It’s full of corny phrases, and as Hubert’s brain is still a bit exhausted, he indulges and lets himself smile.

He wonders if Ferdinand is thinking about him as he sings. Quite possibly so.

“Good morning, my dear!”

Hubert doesn’t register at what point Ferdinand has stopped singing, or when exactly has he moved from the bathroom to their large shared bedroom. He was too busy picturing his beautiful husband, brush bristles buried in his shiny hair, which he’s been growing out for the past few months and now reaches beyond his shoulders, combing his hair as he sings about how much he loves him, perfectly aware that Hubert can hear him.

“Go away” Hubert grunts, but his words are hollow of meaning. He’ll be damned if he actually wants this man to go away any time soon. “It’s too early for the sun”

The mattress dips under Ferdinand’s weight right next to Hubert’s legs. A warm, sun-kissed hand reaches out and perches on a pallid leg. Hubert’s eyes flutter open, drinking in the sight before him.

Ferdinand has had the audacity to wear one of Hubert’s shirts, a button-up one, white, made of silk. It slips down his shoulder, revealing the pretty red and purple marks blooming in his tanned, freckled skin. The ones Hubert put in his body last night, some from before that, already beginning to fade. A few stray drops of water run down his neck, shining when the sunlight hits them. His hair is tied in a low ponytail, still the slightest bit of wet and falling over his non-exposed shoulder like a waterfall of liquid gold. His lower half is only covered by his smallclothes, long legs in full display shamelessly exhibiting all the love bites and hickeys Hubert had sucked on his thighs. The silver band around his index finger, his wedding ring, glints when it catches the sun light, reminder of that promise they made to each other three months ago. Time sure does fly.

Hubert might as well combust at the sight.

“Whatever will I do with you, my dear Hubert”

The sun himself smiles at him and Hubert does, indeed, combust.

He sits in the bed, Ferdinand’s gaze fixed on his, and one of his hands reaches to stroke the long hair, the other going to hold his husband’s. Ferdinand closes his eyes, eyelashes barely grazing his cheekbones, lips curling into a cunning smile. A low chuckle, then Hubert is kissing him.

There’s no rush in the kiss. It’s slow, gentle, warm, just like this morning.

Ferdinand grabs the hand Hubert keeps still in his hair. Then he breaks the kiss, giggling softly when Hubert tries to chase his lips to keep kissing him, eager like a little boy.

“Would you braid it for me, love?”

Hubert would gladly comply (oh, would he ever). Running his hands through Ferdinand’s hair has proven to be the best way to relax after a hard day. Wherever he has a rough workday, he goes back home with an earnest outside but the promise of a peaceful moment of intimacy with his husband keeping him hopeful on the inside. He arrives and they don’t need to exchange words anymore, he would simply lay eyes on Ferdinand and he would go grab a comb and a brush from the bathroom, coming back and immediately lying down on the couch. Hubert would put his husband’s head on his lap and spend the next few minutes (occasionally even an hour) massaging his scalp, brushing his hair, wrapping the bright locks around his fingers, bringing them to his lips to kiss them, muttering quiet praises. Eventually, Ferdinand would ask him about his day. He was anything but afraid that Hubert would get mad recalling the events of the day and would pull his hair with rather little courtesy leaving him with an irritated scalp. No, he trusts him that much, he knows he wouldn’t do that.

But brushing and braiding are two entirely different things, so Hubert finds himself unable to accept.

“You are aware I have no experience braiding hair, are you not?”

“I am” Ferdinand admits right away. “But it’s always nice to try new things, don’t you think?”

And because Hubert is so weak for this man, he ends up accepting.

He’s still nude and the blanket barely does its job at covering him when he sits behind Ferdinand to start braiding his hair, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like they have never seen each other naked.

Hubert wonders if this can even be considered a tress, given how messy and loose it looks, but he figures Ferdinand won’t mind. He’s the one who asked for this after all. On occasion, his husband raises his voice to correct his technique, and Hubert has to start over to do it correctly.

He’s not one for half-assed things, thank you very much.

His husband can’t see him, but Ferdinand’s eyes are closed. This isn’t only relaxing for Hubert, it is for him too. The feeling of his loved one dragging his nails gently across his scalp, twisting the orange locks in his fingers, braiding it slowly, with patience, trying his best to not make a mistake.

Ferdinand starts humming the same melody from before after a while, mutters some of the lyrics under his breath. Hubert lips press against the crown of his head at this.

“You may sing, dear” The encouragement comes out in the form of a quiet whisper.

And Ferdinand complies, of course he does.

There was a time when Hubert would roll his eyes at Ferdinand anytime he made a comment about his voice being able to make horses dance with joy. He would often describe the sound of his vocals with adjectives such as ‘majestic’, ‘amazing’, ‘elegant’, and Hubert would disregard it until, at some point, he stopped caring, and, after spending so much time together, finally came to enjoy it.

Saturdays are meant to take it easy and share non-sexual intimate moments like this one. There’s no need for words, not right now, except for Ferdinand’s singing. It’s enough, they don’t need more than this. Saying anything else would just be unnecessary poetry and would probably ruin the atmosphere.

‘ _You make me feel special’._

‘ _When I hear you calling my name, I feel loved’._

‘ _You make everything alright’._

In any other situation, he would find those phrases coated in endless layers of honey, sugar, and tons of other sweet delights cringe-worthy and vomit-inducing. But with Ferdinand’s tuneful voice there to accompany them, they’re cute, adoring, and warmth starts pooling inside his chest upon hearing them.

His heart feels full.

He’s so in love with this man it hurts.

“All done” Hubert’s voice is soft and fond when he speaks over Ferdinand, settling the braided strands over his husband’s shoulder and sealing his exposed neck with a kiss over a vein.

Ferdinand’s fingers fiddle with the somewhat messy hair, stares at it with eyes full of nothing but affection.

“I apologize if you are not satisfied with the result”

Ferdinand shakes his head vehemently and cuts his husband off before he can even finish speaking.

“It’s perfect. Thank you, my love”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I think it's pretty safe to assume I've officially decided to dedicate my entire existence to these characters and,, yeah. So, anyway, I hope you enjoyed this!


End file.
